


The Pendulum Yet Swings

by TheLifeOfEmm



Category: Thief (Video Game Original Series), Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Self-Sacrifice, Spoilers for the Weildstrom Museum, Thief Deadly Shadows spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeOfEmm/pseuds/TheLifeOfEmm
Summary: Artemus knew he had to delay Gamall—no matter what the cost.
Relationships: Artemus & Garrett (Thief Video Games)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	The Pendulum Yet Swings

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this over the summer, figured I should just publish it. Anybody still reading Thief fic in 2020? 😂

Flying backwards through the air, Artemus struck the stone wall of the graveyard and crumpled to the ground. Winded, blackness spotting behind his eyes, the Keeper groaned and struggled for breath. Beyond the scraggly grass and crumbling tombstones, Gamall lurched forward.

“Foolish, spying, sneaking Keeper. You cannot defeat me. I am invincible. I am glyphs!” 

The abomination spread her arms, and almost Artemus recoiled from the terrible sight. Bare muscle and sinew twitched and stretched, a bloody red chimera of corpses. Her mouths gaped from impossible places, wild eyes rolling in every joint and crevasse. Between the talons sprouting from her fingertips, shimmering, scythe-like glyphs flashed in lightning spurts of primal magic. Artemus scarcely had time to roll to the side before she struck, chips of flagstone exploding from where his head had lain moments prior. 

“Garrett will stop you,” Artemus gasped, forcing himself to sit up. “He is the One the prophecies point to. All will be as it was written.”

“You know not what is written,” Gamall replied scornfully, her voice echoing in his head long after she finished speaking. “I am the Unwritten Times! I am the Third Age! I will kill the thief Garrett and wear his worthless skin.”

Breathing slowly through his nose, Artemus sought to find his balance. Deep at his center, he sank into the wellspring of focus which he had honed in his long years of study. In the air, his hands traced the glyph sigils of binding, of fire, of banishment. Their shapes glowed with blue ghost-light before him—such simple spells, yet calling upon them sapped his strength until his knees turned to water. 

Gamall reached out, her claws curling into a fist, and Artemus’ glyphs flared red. He fought, concentrating on the magic though he knew it was useless—he only had to hold her at bay, to keep her distracted. Sweat broke out on his brow, and Gamall batted aside his glyphs effortlessly.

“You would set your lying, creeping, stealing thief against me? I will destroy him! I will unmake his bones!”

Artemus thought then of Garrett—his Garrett. With any luck, he was by now well underway in his assault on the Wieldstrom Museum. The Sentients would allow none but the thief to gather them, of that Artemus was sure. And once gathered all together, Garrett alone could activate the ancient safeguard. What precisely it would do, no-one was certain, but it was their only hope. Without it, Gamall would unspool all glyphs, unwrite all histories, devour all light in a dance of deadly shadows. The world would be plunged into a new dark age, and thousands would suffer.

It was that they were up against. For this reason, he had spoken to Orland, begged him to tell Garrett the truth. And when he had said his piece, Artemus went looking for Gamall. He could have slipped past where the abomination lurked outside of the Compound, lying in wait for any Keeper unwary with their charms of concealment, but then she would merely have taken her statues of living stone and cracked the Wieldstrom open like an egg. Everything depended on Garrett getting there first. It was a cause worth fighting for. Worth dying for.

Another spray of magic exploded in Artemus’ face and he dived to one side. Stupid, useless tactics; he could only hope to delay the inevitable long enough for Garrett to do what he did best. The old Keeper had wanted so much better for his charge, but in the end, his wishes were irrelevant. The prophecies demanded a thief, and Garrett was a master. Yet Artemus was flagging, and for all that Garrett was good, the museum was vast; there was no way of knowing whether he had bought his friend enough time.

Scrambling backwards over the earth and stone, Artemus stared up at the terrible figure towering above him. Gamall—how that name now itched at some long forgotten memory, a fable of a Keeper who lost her balance to the temptation of a dreadful power. It was like trying to remember a child’s skipping rhyme, as fanciful as goblins in the night. 

Yet there was nothing fanciful about her now, not when her whole quivering mass of livid flesh had him cornered like a bug she meant to quash. Gamall tilted her withered head consideringly, eyes shining with raw magical power as she considered how to end him. Again, Artemus’ thoughts drifted to Garrett, this time in apology. It looked like he would have to miss their rendezvous in Terces Courtyard.

“I hear your heart,” the hag chuckled, crouching over the prone Keeper. “I hear it beating—you are afraid! Well -” Dagger-like teeth opened to reveal a gaping maw of a mouth. “- you should be.”

Her hand shot out, clenching around thin air, and all at once Artemus felt his throat seize and close up. He gasped, suffocating as Gamall slowly wrung the life from his wretched body. But as he clawed at his neck and chest, fighting the building pressure in his temples for any scrap of knowledge which might avail him, Gamall relinquished her grip. 

Retching, Artemus rolled over onto his side. He tried to force himself upright, to die on his feet, but he was stopped halfway to his knees as a massive hand reached out and slammed him back into the ground. 

So this was it. Artemus summoned the last of his strength, enough to meet Gamall’s burning gaze. 

“You will lose this fight,” he said, forcing the words through his teeth even as his ribs were crushed. “The failsafe... the Final Glyph... It will destroy you. Garrett will see to that.”

Yet at that threat, Gamall only laughed, a brutal sound that filled the mind with visions of limbs rending and monsters crying. 

“Yes, the Final Glyph,” the hag crooned. “The Heart, the Eye, the Crown, the Chalice and Paw—they are the keys, ancient powers entombed, enshrined, ensnared in mundane shells. Must be destroyed—and you will help me to destroy them, Keeper.”

Hoarsely, Artemus groaned, “No.”

“Ah, you have no choice!” cried Gamall in delight. “Trusts you, Garrett does. He will give them to you, if you ask.”

The hag traced a series of glyphs over Artemus’ body. He could not read them, but doubted the spell invoked anything he wished to be part of. And sure enough, as the blue sigils sank into his flesh, a lance of agony skewered his chest like a blade. The old Keeper screamed; it felt like splitting open, like being flayed to ribbons. His skin burned and crawled as though covered in stinging, biting insects.

“Your skin is mine,” Gamall hissed. “And when the thief has gathered all the Sentients for me, he will hand them over willingly. He will bring about the end of words, and then I shall devour his flesh! But for now...” Her face split into a grotesque grin. “...I devour yours.”

Artemus twisted and writhed as the Glyph of Transmutation wrought its terrible power over him, mouth stretched in a soundless cry. Skinned alive, he would be left to die, but that was hardly the worst of it. He saw now that he had played right into Gamall’s hands; not even the thought that in his absence she would merely have stolen the form of another was any comfort, for he had instructed Garrett to bring  _ him _ the artifacts. The Keeper understood too late that he should never have sought to delay Gamall, and now the City would pay the price for his misjudgment.

And Garrett...

_ My boy... _ Artemus thought, his back convulsing on the uneven ground as his skin separated from blood and muscle. In trying to protect the thief, Artemus had failed him, just as he had done time and time again. What good was his wisdom? What good was his balance? He would never see the familiar glower of his pupil’s mismatched eyes again.

The pain was too great. It crashed over Artemus in anguished waves, more than his mortal body could withstand. The graveyard faded into darkness, and the Keeper’s body went slack. His last thought was a prayer to whatever distant powers might be listening—to shield Garrett from harm and guide his feet to the path, that one day their sacrifices might have meaning. 

Then the Keeper’s chest fell still, and Artemus breathed his last.


End file.
